blogging

1.My dad always told me if you were able, you should always do things on your own. None of that hiring-other-people crap to paint a wall. You better strap on some raggedy old overalls, get your god damn paintbrush and get to work. Never mind the fact that you’re trapped in a pressure cooker while the smell paint thinner and toxic fumes begin to amass a lethal attack on your precious brain cells. (Who needed those extra thousand cells anyway?) Well, I’m not usually like that. Honestly, I’m lazy as hell. If I can pay someone to screw a light bulb in for me, I’m gonna do it. (Yes, even a light bulb.)

Anyway, I decided to heed my dad’s advice and do something I’ve never done before. Cut my own hair. I mean, why pay someone to cut my hair when there’s hundreds of videos on YouTube promising me I can do it beautifully on my own with a few easy steps? WHY? Why spend my $30 when I can step into my bathroom and walk out looking like a celebrity? It just makes no sense.

Ladies, listen to me and listen to me closely. Never.cut.your.own.hair. Okay? OKAY? Those bitches on YouTube are lying.

2.I’m in the process of kind of “rebranding” (for lack of a better word) my blog. I’ll be changing the look, theme, colors, everything. It will still be humor-based, but with some other things added in. I love writing random humor stories, but I’ve been struggling to find things to write about. Not sure if I’m just getting old and boring or what’s going on. While humor stories will still be the main focus, I’ll be adding in other things that I’m interested in as well. This whole undertaking has been quite anxiety-inducing, so bear with me.

Sometimes it’s completely justifiable to drink wine straight from the bottle and spend the day on the couch hiding under a pile of cats. Maybe even necessary. Doctors really should prescribe things like that. Of course, issues might arise if you don’t have a cat, but you could always just borrow your neighbor’s. Forget what the Bible said – get over there and covet your neighbor’s pussy. Guaranteed to make everyone involved feel better.

This weekend has been dubbed sit-on-your-ass-and-do-nothing in my house. I feel like I deserve it after having such a stressful vacation. You know, a vacation from my vacation. It makes sense in my mind at least. So, instead of writing my own post, I’m going to share a guest post from a kickass blogger here – Becca Barracuda. She cracks me up. Plus, she shares an extreme love for cats and Harry Potter. She’s my spirit animal. Check her out here : The Married Cat Lady

My boyfriend and I had only been dating for about a month (if that) when we went to Panera Bread one morning after a night of drinking. (He has weird eating habits.) I had spent the night at his house, so I was wearing last night’s makeup and clothing, and I had a massive zit on my chin. And I mean massive. One of the women at work had asked me, “What happened to your face? Did you fall?”

“No, my face just hates me,” I told her, because of course, I couldn’t just leave the fucker alone. I had to mess with it. I had angered the beast.

My boyfriend and I were sitting at a small table, eating our bread bowls and minding our own business when an elderly man walked up to our table. He was at least 80 years old and came hobbling over with a cane and one of those newspaper boy hats on.

He was standing over us and said to Boyfriend, “Oh my! Are you the lucky man with this woman?”

I looked around to see what woman he was talking about. There was no way it could be me, not right now.

It had to be me, though, because there wasn’t really anyone else around (probably because most people don’t go to Panera for breakfast), and this man was hovering at our table, looking right at me.

I laughed. Boyfriend chuckled nervously.

“Stevie Wonder could see she’s a knock-out!” the elderly man continued, gesturing to me.

“Aw, that’s so nice. Thank you, sir,” I said both flattered and uncomfortable. I could feel my cheeks heating up.

“You know you’re a lucky man,” he said to Boyfriend in a slightly creepy, grandfatherly way.

“Yes sir. I do,” Boyfriend said, nodding.

Our new elderly friend turned back to me, “Are you from Tennessee?” he asked.

“What?” I looked at Boyfriend. He looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “No…” I chuckled to cover my discomfort.

“Oh, well I thought you might be because you’re the only Ten-I-see!” He started laughing, a solid belly-laugh. Boyfriend and I chuckled along.

“Ha, ha, that’s funny! Thank you.” I then took a bite of my soup, hoping he’d notice that I wanted him to leave. (I do this often. You’d be surprised how many people don’t get this social cue. If I go back to doing whatever I was doing before you started talking to me, I am no longer interested in the conversation.)

He lingered for another couple of seconds. “Take care of her now,” he told Boyfriend.

“Yes, I will, thanks,” Boyfriend said.

“She’s a catch,” the elderly man said, nodding and looking at me.“She is,” Boyfriend smiled and looked over at me. I was pleading with my eyes, “Please make this stop.”

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said, pointing at me.

“Thank you!” I smiled and waved as he hobbled away. “Oh my God!” I said to Boyfriend as he practically spit out his soup laughing. “That is possibly one of the most awkward encounters I’ve ever had! Look at me!” I gestured to my old makeup and wrinkled clothes.

“You’re a catch,” Boyfriend said, and then he winked.

When I got back home to my parents’ house, I immediately told my mom about it. Her response?

Ever love something so much you want to squeeze it so tight that its eyes pop out and guts burst all over your walls and decorate it with a nice red tinge? Sure, it’s a bit brutal like a scene from Dexter when he’s hacking the shit out of one of his victims and bathing in their blood, but that’s okay. It’s out of love, you know? My mom always told me it was the thought that counts, so… as long as you do it with good intentions it’s okay. (That’s how it works, right?) Anyways, the point of this ramble was to tell you guys that I love you. So much that I want to hug you so tight you can’t help but shit yourself. I really appreciate and have all the feels for this community.

Anyways, I was nominated for an award by R Cawkwell. Since I never follow to the rules to these things, I thought I’d answer the questions she asked, then turn and ask y’all questions of my own so we can learn more about each other. It’s a fun game, so answer them damn it! Or sit in the corner being a party pooper while you pick your nose. Whatever works.

She asked me:

When did you start writing? I started writing poetry when I was in junior high. It was absolutely terrible, but it spawned my love for writing.

Pluto: Planet or not? YES. Of course. Don’t disrespect Pluto just being it’s smaller than the others. Didn’t your parents teach you manners?

Favorite place to write? At my desk, I’m not hipster enough to write in public.

Pen or word processor for the first draft? Word processor. My hands hurt way too fast when I write by hand.

If you were a mythical creature, what would you be? A hippogriff. Because, uh… Harry Potter kicks ass.

My questions for y’all:

If you could recommend ONE show right now, what would it be?

Would you rather spend the rest of your life with giant testicles on your chin, or having hooves instead of hands?

If you could choose any celebrity to hit the sheets with, who would it be?

I’ve never done this before, but instead of being, you know… productive this morning and writing the post I had planned, I ended up spending two hours reading every.single.post I’ve made since I started this blog. That’s almost two years worth. I was going to write about a funny story from my childhood but for the life of me – I couldn’t remember if I’d posted about it before. I’m worried I’m going to start repeating myself and look like a complete idiot. Have you guys gotten to that point yet? My mind has gone to complete crap. Maybe it’s my age or the long term effect of eating too many cheese balls as a kid, but I’m blaming 4/20 even though I haven’t smoked in years. Yep, definitely the weed’s fault.

So, for the first time ever, I’m going to do a ‘Friday Flashback‘ post and share one from over a year ago. It goes along well with the fact that I’ve been feeling a bit down from having a lack of a life/friends lately. (Why is it so hard to make friends as an adult? I never had this issue when I was younger.)

February 2016:

I recently stumbled upon a blogger who was reviewing a local restaurant right down the road from me. It made me pretty excited, so I posted a comment and tried to connect with her. I really had no intention of meeting this person, I just wanted to tell her how much I agreed with her good review and next time she should get the Bacon & Pimento Cheeseburger because it will give her a mouthgasm. (If you don’t know what Pimento cheese is, you’re not living life.)

Well… she never responded to me. I figured I might come across a bit crazy in my writing, so I thought reaching out to her in an email would clear my name and make her feel more at ease:

“Hi!

I commented on your post recently and I’m worried I came across weird and freaked you out. Don’t be scared. I didn’t want to meet up with you or anything like that. I know I come across a little crazy on my blog… but I assure you I’m more of a “I made my 8-year-old niece try a dog treat crazy” rather than a “I’m going to find your house and harvest your organs crazy.” Speaking of your house, the one on your Bio page is so cute. So is your dog. If you want to be friends, I’m just down the road.

-Blair”

Pretty sure I made it worse. You win some, you lose some right?

Lesson of the Day : If you want to make new friends off the internet, don’t mention living down the road from them and harvesting their organs in the same paragraph.

Do you remember your parents emphasizing when you were young how necessary it was to always be honest? While, at the same time, lied day-after-day about the most important thing in your life back then? Yes, I’m talking about Santa Claus. How dare they, am I right? I remember when my classmate in first grade told me Santa was fake. My mom kept denying it, so when she asked me to get a glass of milk to leave out for Santa that night, I dumped a huge spoonful of the salt into it. That’ll show ’em to keep my happy childhood memories alive. To this day, I wonder if one of my parents actually tried it. Take that, mom & dad! Filthy liars. (Yes, I was a bitter child. Don’t judge)

I’ve been feeling guilty lately that I haven’t told anyone in my family (besides my husband) that I write a blog. I worry that it will have some sort of effect on what I write. I don’t want to be second-guessing or holding back on things I normally wouldn’t think twice about saying. Is my mom going to care that I swear on a public forum? Is my sister-in-law going to be disgusted if I post a poem dedicated to how much I love my husband’s ass? What about my dad? SEE, THESE ARE EXACTLY THE THOUGHTS I’M TRYING TO AVOID. AHH!

How have you handled sharing your blog (or not sharing it) with your family? Does it ever keep you from saying things you want? Does it cause you to have a bigger filter? Have you ever been ‘in trouble’ for what you’ve said? Isn’t Santa awesome?